


Motorcycles, Thunderstorms and Storage Rooms

by grammaticallyimpaired



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grammaticallyimpaired/pseuds/grammaticallyimpaired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike gets a motorcycle. Harvey hates it. During one of the worst thunder storms New York has ever encountered, Mike is three hours late from court, and Harvey can't get the image of Mike crashing out of his head. The best closer in New York City isn't sure if he'll be able to keep his feelings to himself anymore - if he even gets the chance to confess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motorcycles, Thunderstorms and Storage Rooms

The lightning flashing across the sky that momentarily blanketed New York City in a blinding sheet of white was doing nothing to help ease Harvey's nerves. In fact, each bolt of lightning caused shivers to roll up and down Harvey's spine, and they weren't the good kind either. Each clap of thunder would cause Harvey's heart to drop like a dead weight, the deafening sound seeming to rattle the glass windows of his office.

Mocha-colored orbs didn't once tear away from the view of the transparent windows, the harsh rain pelting against the glass like bullets. Harvey was anxiously scanning through the downpour for the bright red motorcycle that was supposed to be parked in the garage over an hour ago, with the rider sitting safely in his cubicle right down the hall.

Harvey would whip around the second he heard footsteps against the tile of the floor, but could feel his heart sink further into his chest when he realized that the sound was due to dress shoes or loafers. Not the black or red Converse sneakers that Harvey had grown accustomed to.  
Harvey never liked the fact that Mike's primary source of transportation was a bicycle. He didn't think Mike's transportation could get any more dangerous. Sometimes, Harvey really hated being wrong. God forbid Mike do something smart and actually buy a car. With the bicycle, at least there were bicycle lanes that offered Mike some sort of protection from the large, heavy cars and idiotic, crazy civilians on the road. But now… Now Mike was zooming down the street at 60 miles per hour on a God-forsaken motorcycle, sometimes forgetting to wear his helmet, ultimately resulting in Harvey having a hernia on a weekly basis.

No matter how nice and shiny the bike was or how sexy Mike looked in the seat, wearing a leather jacket and skinny-fit jeans, Harvey's dislike for the motorcycle never faltered. Not even once. Harvey had come to terms with his less-than-platonic feelings for Mike weeks ago, much to Donna's glee and foreboding wedding plans, but he never knew when or how to tell Mike how he really felt about him. Seeing as how his blonde-haired, blue-eyed puppy was riding a beautiful deathtrap to and from work every day, Harvey had come this close to spilling the beans every. single. day. 

It's not that Harvey didn't like motorcycles - he appreciated the classics. It was a Norton Atlas for Christ's sake. But Harvey didn't like Mike riding a motorcycle.

Harvey wasn't subtle about his distaste for the motor bike - and Mike wasn't subtle about disregarding his distaste. Harvey argued that a lawyer didn't look as professional riding a motorcycle instead of driving a car - it made them look too laid-back and gritty. Mike was ready to fight tooth-and-nail to defend the bike's badass ruggedness, but a man approached the two before he could open his mouth.

He was tall, lean, square-jawed, extremely good-looking, middle-aged and British - incredibly so. The Brit approached the two in front of Mike's bike, where the argument was unfolding, and complimented both the bike and Mike for their class and good-looks (Harvey was glaring daggers at the Englishman for hitting on his associate - right in front of him). When the Englishman, who later identified himself as Bradley Crawford, had asked plenty of questions about the history of the bike and the not-so-distant future of the associate, specifically dinner later that night (by this point, Harvey had grabbed Mike by the wrist, and was literally dragging him into the building), Bradley finally asked where Jessica Pearson's office was because he was dropping by for a consult.

Forty-five minutes later, and Jessica dropped a handful of files on Harvey's desk, regarding a brand new client whose case had the ability to make-or-break the firm. And who did the devastatingly handsome British client ask for specifically to handle the case? 

"The handsome young attorney with the sapphire eyes and the red Norton Atlas parked in the garage." 

When Jessica explained to Mr. Crawford that Mike was only an associate, and that Harvey was the attorney, Mr. Crawford's response had made Mike laugh, Harvey's jaw hit the floor, and even Jessica cracked a smile. 

"Oh - that young man with the inferiority complex? I suppose he's fine - but Michael Ross will be there as well, yes?" 

Let's just say that the case was handled very well, and Harvey could never argue about the troublesome bike seeming unprofessional again. Especially since Jessica personally complimented Mike about the damnable bike. The smirk plastered across Mike's face after leaving Jessica's office would be branded into Harvey's mind until the day he died - the seductive twitch of the lips, however, was not a curse whatsoever.

Harvey had many reasons for having such a strong distaste for the motorcycle, so he would conveniently bring them up when he would drop off his oceanic-eyed associate in front of the garage after a client meeting, or when walking him to the actual bike itself if the two stayed late discussing a case or just talking (which had been happening more often than not, lately).

His argument - which would be valid no matter what, even if Superman rode off into the stars on a super bike - would be the safety a car offered that a motorcycle didn't. Especially in a city like New York, where the drivers care more about the gum in the street getting lodged in their tires than running over a human being. 

Mike would just chuckle, and promise to be extra careful on the streets, and maybe even slow down at a red light. After receiving a look from Harvey which read, 'I don't know whether to laugh or smash your bike to pieces right now', Mike would wink at him, put on his helmet, pull down the visor, and speed off into the night.

It's not that Harvey didn't trust Mike with a motorcycle - Harvey didn't trust the other drivers on the road. Being a lawyer, Harvey has dealt with some of the darkest, dirtiest scum firsthand, the pretentious bastards fretting more over the blood splattered on the front of their brand new Rolls Royce, instead of helping or even acknowledging the human being who was broken and bleeding.

The image of Mike being that broken being, bleeding out in the streets of Manhattan, appeared a little too vividly in Harvey's mind, causing the man to collapse at his desk in the chair, and dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing the picture to go away.

"Boss? You okay?" Donna's voice buzzed from the intercom. 

Harvey didn't have to look up to know that she was giving him that look from her desk - the look mixed with intense worry and gut-wrenching concern.

"Fine," Harvey grit out without raising his head. "Let me know when-"

"Will do."

Was that the fourteenth or fifteenth time Harvey told Donna to let him know when Mike stepped foot in the Pearson-Darby building? He wasn't sure - but he had obviously said it enough that Donna knew better than to question why he had been staring at the same piece of paper for ten minutes. Harvey had read the first paragraph a total of sixteen times - and he still didn't know what the first sentence said.

Harvey had tried on numerous occasions to persuade Mike to sell the God-forsaken motorcycle, and to buy an actual vehicle, such as a car. But every time he suggested the idea, Mike would regard him with a look that translated to, 'Seriously? This again?' 

When questioned why he wouldn't sell it, Mike simply stated, "Because it's badass. And intimidating. And kinda-sorta sexy." 

When asked what he had against cars, Mike would respond with, "Besides the fact that they are extremely claustrophobic and are no good at lane-splitting-" Harvey glared at him, to which he grinned impishly, "-a car doesn't exactly range within the budget." 

Harvey had offered to buy him a car, on several different occasions, to which Mike would get this sort of… fire in his eyes, turning them a dark shade of navy, and tell him bluntly, "I don't need your charity, Harvey."

Every time Harvey heard these words slip past his lips, his jaw would tighten, and a sort of frustration tinged with anger would cloud his senses. What Mike didn't realize was that Harvey buying a car wasn't only about keeping him safe (though it was the primary reason) - it would also give Harvey a sense of peace. 

Harvey wouldn't admit it out loud, he's positive that Donna knew it anyways (she knows everything), but on those few days where Mike was more than thirty minutes late (the puppy was tardy every once in awhile), every minute that followed seemed like an eternity to Harvey. The worst possible scenarios would run through his mind as his gaze would shift from the windows, to the door, to his watch. And today was no different. 

But Mike had never been this late. The latest he had been was forty-five minutes, about five or six months ago, because a friend had driven him home, he didn't have his motorcycle, his wallet was in his desk at his cubicle, and he had to walk the entire way to the Pearson-Darby building. 

Mike had sprinted into the building that day, and Harvey would never admit out loud that his heart had finally stopped racing at the devastating thoughts of what could have happened to him on the way to work, only for it to speed up once more at the sight of Mike standing in the middle of his office, panting slightly, with a sheepish grin on his face, and the files for the 10:00 A.M. hearing clasped tightly in his hand. 

Harvey wasn't angry about his tardiness - of course, however, he had to put on a show. Harvey Specter was anything but soft. But the quirk of his full, pink lips and the gleam in his turquoise-colored orbs caused an ache in his chest that he wasn't used to feeling. And it was the good kind of hurt. The one that made him feel alive. 

Mike was here earlier in the morning, bright and early at 7:30 A.M., but Mike had court today. Crawford's case. The case was supposed to be swift - in and out. The trial started at noon - it was now nearing five o' clock. Harvey specifically stated that Mike had to give him the files for the case, signed and finalized, by six o' clock this evening. Harvey assured Mike that court wouldn't take more than three hours. Well - it was five hours later, and Harvey's heart was pounding in his ears as every minute passed by. At the moment - he couldn't care less about the damned paperwork. All he wanted more than anything was to see Mike, safe and sound in his cubicle.

Harvey glanced down at his watch, and inhaled sharply. 5:27 P.M. Instinctively, he yanked his phone out of his pocket, and dialed Mike's number again. Harvey should have expected the voicemail, but he couldn't help the disappointment that simmered and the anxiety that relentlessly gnawed at him. That was the 27th time Harvey had called Mike… Harvey all but hurled his phone at his desk, causing more than a few heads to crane in shock and Donna to toss another worried glance at her boss. 

The storm was looking bad - the sky had been overcast the entire week, but not a single drop had fallen. Until today. Early in the morning, it was just a couple of drops. By 9 o' clock, it was a complete downpour. Harvey didn't catch the news this morning, but from his view from the 39th floor, the streets of New York City were nearly flooded.

Harvey couldn't tear his gaze away from the window, attempting to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. Harvey couldn't see very well in this storm, and he was on the 39th floor. What did that mean for Mike? Could he see? What if he missed a stop light? What if the other drivers couldn't see? What if they crashed? What if the roads were too slick, and Mike took a sharp turn? What if he was in the hospital right now? 

Another flash of lightning followed by a booming clap of thunder rolled across the sky, and Harvey couldn't take it anymore. Shooting out of his seat, he harshly tugged his suit jacket from the back of his seat, and shoved his arms through the sleeves. The various scenarios of what might have happened either an hour ago or maybe even mere minutes ago were bouncing around in Harvey's head like a game of fucking Brick, and his chest was aching painfully - not in the beautifully sadistic way that Mike was held accountable for.

Harvey was so lost in his thoughts, that the sound of sneakers smacking against the tile didn't register in his mind. Harvey's mind had come to disregard the sound - after turning around twenty-three times, and each time it was everyone but Mike, his mind had classified it as background noise. 

He straightened out the lapels of his jacket, his mind set on finding out where and what happened to Mike if it was the last thing he did. 

All of a sudden, the sound of sneakers against tile stopped, only to be replaced with panting. Harvey's head snapped to the door, to find a tired, panting, soaked-to-the-bone Mike Ross standing in the middle of his office, eyes concerned and posture slouched. Harvey could feel the weight of the world being lifted off of his shoulders at the sight of Mike unharmed - soaking wet but unharmed - and Harvey could finally breathe. 

"Hey boss - your pup is here." 

Harvey glared at Donna who was sitting smugly on the other side of the glass walls, smirking at him. 

When Harvey's gaze shifted back towards his associate, Mike managed a weak, uneasy smile, knowing that even though he hadn't spoken a word, something was up. And judging by the way that everyone had told him to haul-ass up the elevator and sprint to Harvey's office, he was assuming that it was bad news. Mike had no idea what to expect - what did he do wrong? The case had finished on a fantastic note!

Once Mike had reclaimed his bearings, he straightened out, and opened his mouth to speak, but Harvey brusquely moved past him. Mike didn't have much of a chance to understand what was going on before Harvey all but growled over his shoulder, "Follow me."

Mike swallowed thickly, stunned and wary at his dark tone, before obeying Harvey's orders, managing to slip outside of the room before the glass doors shut. He sent a pleading, desperate look at Donna, all but screaming, 'What did I do?' and 'Will I be back?' The only thing that he received was a sly smirk, causing Mike to gulp. That wasn't good. In a matter of moments, Harvey had led them into a storage room off to the side, giving the two the privacy they needed. 

Hundreds of boxes littered the shelves, numerous files, papers, and cases filling the squares to the brim. The room, just like any other storage room, would have had the distinct scent of dust, worn paper, and bleach. However - the only scent that filtered through Harvey's senses was the cologne Mike was wearing that was overriding his system, mixed with the natural scent of rain, the crisp scent of freshly printed paper, and something… masculine. Something that wasn't… Mike. What was that… Wild spice? Something flared in Harvey's veins, his blood boiling, the bitter taste of bile tickling the back of his throat. Something was burning inside of him. Anger, directed at the bastard who had smothered Mike in their scent. Jealousy, for the bastard to have been so close to Mike for so long to have their scent mix with his. Possessiveness, because Michael Ross was his. 

When Mike turned toward him, however, all of the feelings momentarily subsided at the sight. Harvey could feel something pound in his chest. Usually light, gold locks were transformed into a breathtaking bronze color due to being drenched in rain drops. Beads of water dotted porcelain skin, slowly dripping down to disappear under the blue dress shirt that had the top three buttons undone, revealing the sharp collarbones that looked delectable. Vibrant, oceanic eyes were wide in confusion and a hint of worry. When Mike's tongue darted out of his mouth to wet those kissable red lips, a nervous habit Harvey picked up on early in their partnership which still drove him crazy, he had to stifle a groan.

Mike swallowed thickly, and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. The cold, crisp air in the seemingly abandoned storage room caused a shiver to roll down his spine, and Mike could feel goosebumps bubbling across his skin. His hair was still wet - not soaked, but wet. The once dry dress shirt and black slacks that he wore to court were completely drenched - Mike was sure if he took his shoes off, there would be puddles in the sneakers. Speaking of puddles… He glanced down, and winced when he was that a puddle of accumulated rain drops had formed beneath his feet. As if Harvey wasn't pissed enough already.

"Harvey - did I - did I do something? I had my phone turned off for court, and afterwards Mr. Crawford invited me and Rachel to lunch. The second after lunch is over and I turn it on, it nearly exploded from all of the messages I was getting from you and Donna. I rushed over as soon as I could - is everything okay?"

Harvey didn't say anything, and Mike jumped the gun. "The case went well - really well. Mr. Crawford wanted to celebrate! Is it about the files? They're in my bag on Donna's desk - I can go get them right now - but I could've sworn you said that the paperwork wouldn't be due until-"

When Mike turned to the door, he was pulled back by a pair of strong arms, quickly turning him around, wrapping around his slender waist, and squeezing tightly enough to force all of the air out of his lungs. Mike's brain shut off for a second, the combination of Harvey's intoxicating cologne and the fact that 'Holy shit - Harvey's hugging me' enough to cause his normally fluent, fast thought processes to come to an abrupt stop.

Mike's arms hung limply at his sides, unsure of what to do.

"Uh… Harvey?"

Said lawyer buried his face into Mike's neck, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla, peppermint and something else bittersweet that could only be labeled as Mike. 

"You're safe," Harvey breathed.

Mike blinked, confused by what he meant.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

When Harvey pulled away, Mike could clearly see that his gorgeous brown eyes were pained, an expression that he had never seen in those coffee-colored orbs. And it wasn't an expression that he ever wanted to see again.

"Court wasn't supposed to last five hours. At the most, three. Two hours, Mike. The rain has been coming down in buckets for two fucking hours, and I couldn't get the sight of you crashing out of my head. Do you know how worried I was? How terrified?"

Mike opened his mouth to speak, only for it to snap shut. He had never seen Harvey like this - so vulnerable, so exposed.

"And you were out - having lunch with Bradley-fucking-Crawford." 

"Harvey - I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - I mean, I didn't know- wait, why are you pissed at-"

"You're getting rid of that fucking motorcycle." 

Mike's concern was immediately replaced with irritation, frustration and a bit of anger. Was Harvey seriously trying to do this again? Was he seriously worried about him? Or was this just his latest attempt at trying to get him to sell his baby? No - that couldn't have been it. The look in Harvey's eyes was devastating, but still, he couldn't just tell him to sell his baby.

"Wait - what? Harvey, that's not fair. And you can't ask me to just toss it out like trash-"

In a flash, Mike's frustrated argument died in his throat when a soft pair of lips descended upon his own in a harsh, firm clash of the lips. Mike gasped at the sudden action, giving Harvey the access to slip his tongue into his mouth. For a second, Harvey feared that he might have been too forward. But once he felt Mike moan against his mouth, and grasp at the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging him forward, the smirk that stretched across his face was that of victory. Sweet, delicious victory. God, how long had he been wanting to do that?

"I'm not asking," Harvey mumbled against his lips, before hoisting Mike up on the table. "I'm ordering," the last word was essentially a growl, before crashing their lips together in a fervent, intense kiss. Harvey thrust his tongue into Mike's mouth, Mike pleasantly surprised at the action, and moaned once again. Mike's hands snaked up from the lapels of Harvey's jacket to his thick, chocolate locks, entangling his fingers within the his hair. The actions just caused Harvey to growl into Mike's mouth, as his tongue explored the long sought-after cavern. Harvey was enjoying every second of it, and he nearly forgot that he had a point to make before he completely ravaged his associate in the storage room.

When Harvey pulled away, albeit not very far away, Mike whimpered at the feeling of his lips gone. God - those sounds were wreaking havoc through his entire body. The sight of Mike's plump, swollen lips was one that he would never get tired of. The blush that had crept up the sides of his neck was now tinging the pup's cheeks pink - Mike was flushed, but not from embarrassment. From excitement. In their scuffle, Mike's hair had been tousled, and his vivid blue eyes became a color matching that of the sea before the storm, the pupils blown-wide - Mike was driving him off the edge of self-control. 

"You're going to get rid of that bike. Sell it on the Craigslist, ship it across the Earth, hell, give it to Louis as a fucking present - it's gone." 

Before Harvey could see Mike's reaction, heducked his head to the sensitive flesh of Mike's neck, and started biting, licking, and sucking the exposed skin. Mike attempted to stifle a moan at the actions, but Harvey could feel the vibration against his lips, causing him to smirk like the devil he was. Harvey could feel the fingers engulfed in his hair tighten ever-so slightly, urging him even closer. Harvey repeated the same actions slowly, carefully, and meticulously - love bites littered the skin above, below, and around Mike's neck and collarbones, the red flesh looking absolutely perfect in Harvey's eyes. Harvey had marked him - Mike was his. 

"No more lunches with Crawford, with Rachel, with anyone," Harvey growled. "I don't care who invites you, I don't care when, and I don't care where. I'll buy you the damn restaurant - you're mine."

Mike smiled, actually smiled, and cupped Harvey's face in his palms, causing him to look up. "I'm yours," Mike murmured, looking into his eyes thoughtfully and sincerely, before pressing his lips against Harvey's in the first gentle, sensual kiss that they shared. Harvey returned it with as much passion and tenderness, wrapping his arms around his waist. As much as Harvey loved all of the other kisses, this had to be his favorite so far. Because it held hope. And promise. And it might have been too early to tell, but Harvey Specter could say that it was damn close to love.

The moment would have been perfect - he feels the same way, he's safe, he wants me as much as I want him - if Mike hadn't decided to add his own spice to it. The pup leaned in close to Harvey's ear, the feeling of Mike's breath hot and moist on the sensitive shell of his ear. Harvey could feel the smirk on his lips 

"But I'm not getting rid of my bike."

A shiver ran up and down Harvey's spine, and a smirk surfaced across his face. Looks like he was going to have to use some…. Extreme measures, to knock some sense into his thick-headed, incredibly handsome, devilishly smart, annoyingly witty associate. And Mike was going to have to use some… Persuasive methods against his unbelievably attractive, extremely suave, occasionally hotheaded boss to make him see reason.

It's safe to say that the storage room on the 39th floor was a place that Harvey would often drag Mike to when he believed that his puppy needed some sense knocked into him. And Mike was all too happy to oblige.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly new to this - constructive criticism is more than welcome!  
> Reviews are love :)


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